


THE BEDROOM DOOR, being a Treatise by MISS ROSAMUND WATSON on the Importance of Knocking in Preserving Familial Harmony and Protecting the Innocence of Young Girls

by Laura JV (jacquez)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: LEARN ABOUT KNOCKING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquez/pseuds/Laura%20JV
Summary: Apparently, you cannot die of embarrassment, but not for lack of trying.





	THE BEDROOM DOOR, being a Treatise by MISS ROSAMUND WATSON on the Importance of Knocking in Preserving Familial Harmony and Protecting the Innocence of Young Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Basingstoke for the read-through and Amireal for the title assistance.

Ever afterwards, Rosie was proud that she managed not to scream and slam the door to her dad’s bedroom, but instead merely yelped out “I’m SO sorry” and closed it quickly and quietly.    
  
She ran to the kitchen and stuck her face into the refrigerator. There was a bottle of milk in there, and she put her forehead on it, begging the blush to go away. Behind her, someone cleared their throat.   
  
“Oh Christ,” she said, “do we have to talk about it? Can’t we pretend it didn’t happen?” She sneaked a look under her arm, and her dad was leaning against the kitchen table. He was — rumpled, and also blushing, but he met her eyes squarely. He was also, she noted with relief, wearing a vest and tracksuit bottoms.    
  
It was significantly more than he’d been wearing two minutes ago.   
  
“Rosie,” he said, and she sighed and closed the refrigerator, and stalked off to throw herself dramatically into Sherlock’s armchair — no, no, they’d possibly had sex on that — the client chair, there, that was probably safe.   
  
Her dad ran a hand through his hair as she fidgeted and refused to meet his eyes. “Right,” he said, eventually. “You know the rule has always been to knock. I’m guessing you aren’t going to forget again in a hurry.”   
  
“Well,” she answered, “I did just see my dad getting absolutely railed by Sherlock Holmes, so, probably not.”   
  
“‘Railed’?” Dad said, and then “nevermind, just — nevermind.”   
  
“Oh my God,” she said, and pressed her hands to her mouth in horror. “I saw  _ Sherlock’s cock, _ I can’t unsee it, oh God.”    
  
Her dad coughed — it sounded suspiciously like a laugh — and dropped down in his armchair with an amused huff, and she peeked over her fingers at him. “Doesn’t that hurt?”   
  
“Doesn’t what hurt, Rosie?”    
  
“You just had — I mean, up your bum, doesn’t it — shouldn’t your bum hurt?”   
  
He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose up sideways. “Without, ah, getting into details that aren’t any of your business, I’m, ah. Used to it. No, it doesn’t hurt.” He rubbed at his eyebrow. “You’re — a bit young to, ah, have experience of your own. But it really...oughtn’t hurt. Although some people do that for fun—“   
  
“Stop, oh my God, Dad.”    
  
He stopped, and watched her steadily for a few seconds. “Are you OK?” he said, gently. “I’m not sure you were really...prepared to see that.”   
  
She made a despairing noise into the crook of her elbow.    
  
“Is there anything you need to ask me?” he said, more gently still.    
  
“How did I not KNOW?” she wailed. “I mean. How?”   
  
“I honestly have no idea,” Dad said. He sighed. “All right. We started sleeping together ten years ago. We don’t share a bedroom because we’d probably kill each other if we didn’t have our own space. No, you cannot call him my ‘boyfriend’, he’d probably combust on the spot.”    
  
“Spontaneous human combustion is a myth,” Sherlock said, from the kitchen door. Rosie darted a look at him — dressing gown over pyjamas, bare feet, eyebrows raised at her — and hid her face back in her folded arms. She’d known him her whole life and had managed to never think about his — sexuality, or whatever, or any of his — bits — until her rather abrupt introduction to the existence of his sexuality AND his bits earlier, and she wished she could erase the entire afternoon from her life and start over. She’d come home and she would not go upstairs; she’d make tea and do her homework and eventually her dad would come into the kitchen  _ fully dressed _ and she would  _ not know what Sherlock’s cock looked like _ .

 

She looked at Sherlock out of one eye, and knew immediately that he’d deduced everything, every last thing she’d seen and thought and done since the instant she’d opened her dad’s bedroom door. He ran one hand through his hair— oh, no, that was worse, she’d spent the past year yelling at her friends to  _ stop calling my godfather a silver fox, ewww _ , and every time they’d been over to do homework they’d flirted with him and she’d been  _ mortified— _

 

“At least I can tell my friends you’re gay,” is what actually came out of her mouth, and that was  _ not what she had intended to say _ . If the day got any worse she was going to  _ die _ .

 

“I’m not,” said Sherlock, “but that would hardly stop them; they flirt with me largely _because_ they believe I’m uninterested in having sex with them.” He moved over next to her dad and put one hand on his shoulder. He’d been.  _ Doing _ things, to her dad, with those hands. She yanked her eyes back to his face. “Which is true, in point of fact. I have an incredibly narrow range that emphatically does not include teenagers.”    
  


Her dad looked worried. “Rosie,” he said, “it’s not — some people — you know it’s not all right if anyone takes advantage of your friends if —“

 

She yelped, for the second time in — had it only been ten minutes? “No! Dad! I know!” She covered her face again. “Can’t I  _ please _ pretend this never happened?” she asked. “Please. I really just. Need to forget everything about this afternoon.”   
  
To her relief, Sherlock rumbled “Of course, Watson” in an offhand tone, and she raised her head to give him a grateful look — at which point he smirked and pulled her dad to his feet. “I’ll just get back to — what was it? — ‘absolutely railing’ your father.”   
  
_ “Sherlock,” _ her dad said, but he was blushing, and Sherlock cupped one hand around the back of his neck—    
  
Rosie gave up her  _ entire life _ as a bad job, and fled for the relative safety of Mrs. Hudson’s flat.    
  
Mrs. Hudson opened the door to show Mr. Chatterjee out, just as Rosie raised her hand to knock.    
  



End file.
